Pain
by Child-OTKW
Summary: Keith acts out, and Zarkon has his son teach him a lesson. Part Four of War Games. Contains torture, and minor character death.


Keith shivered from where he sat propped up against the cell wall, one knee drawn close to his chest so his arm could rest on it, his head tilted back and eyes shut.

He had no way of knowing how many days had passed since he and Hunk had been ambushed and captured. He felt like it had been months, but the more pragmatic side of him knew it could not have been that long.

Because his body was still strong – not losing muscle mass just yet, and the hunger had not overwhelmed him. They had been here a few days, a week at the most.

He hated everything about this.

He hated the jeering words of the guards.

He hated how he was pitted against Galra soldiers for Zarkon amusement.

He hated the pleased smirk on the Emperor's face every time Keith's opponent hit the ground and did not get up.

He hated how the challenges set for him made his blood pump in anticipation.

He _especially_ hated having to watch Hunk be dragged back in here again and again, new injuries and eyes a little dimmer each time.

It made him sick and frustrated, that his _friend_ – his kind, soft, innocent _friend_ – was being hurt and there was _nothing_ he could do about it.

It was only made worse because…because Keith was not being hurt, nothing more than a cut here or a scratch there. He would not feel so horribly _guilty_ if he was being torn up and beaten day after day as well.

Seeing Hunk returned to him in a progressively worse state each time made that fire in Keith's chest burn. It made him feel like he should take the other boy's place and endure everything his friend was suffering through. Because out of the two of them _Keith was the one who deserved to be punished._

What had Hunk ever done to justify this sort of treatment? The bigger boy was so light and happy, so much brighter than Keith. Why was he the one being broken when Keith was the one who was obviously, fundamentally _wrong_?

He was an _istylni_. A half-breed. He had the blood of the enemy flowing through his veins.

He was the one that fucking enjoyed the fights, enjoyed the flash of victory at beating another soldier into the ground, of being the winner.

It should be him that was being tortured, because he was the bad one here, and Hunk…Hunk was someone who should to be protected.

Keith would deal with everything they threw at him if only it meant that Hunk could get back to the others. Back to Allura and the Castle and _Shiro_ –

Keith squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

He would gladly sacrifice himself if he thought it would aid Hunk. Because Keith knew he could handle physical pain – not indefinitely, but certainly long enough for Hunk to recover and escape.

But this? Seeing his friend slowly worn down? He could not deal with this. It made him feel so pathetic and useless because Hunk had not even wanted to be out here in the first place. Hunk would have been content to stay on Earth and live out the rest of his life in peace.

But instead, he was up in space fighting a war he wanted no part of. He was being hurt because Keith was not strong enough to protect him. He was here because Keith was too weak to save him.

It was knowledge that burned within him, made his throat tighten and his eyes sting.

He hated _everything_ about this.

But most of all, he hated how effective this was.

Despite all of Lance's snide, teasing remarks, Keith was not totally socially-inept. He had difficulty opening up to people, and things occasionally went over his head, but he was not an idiot.

He understood perfectly what Zarkon was doing to him. And he was not sure if that made it better or worse.

The Emperor knew Keith would not buckle under torture. He knew that it would only stroke the blaze inside him and make him more resistant. Eventually, Keith would wither and crumble, but it would be a long time coming and whatever Zarkon wanted from him, Keith knew the monster would prefer it _sooner_ rather than _later_.

Zarkon knew Keith would not break so easily, so he did the next best thing.

Torturing Hunk, leaving Keith practically unharmed – it was gradually chipping away at Keith, destroying him in a way he had no defence against.

Keith was a physical being, he expressed himself with his actions far better than he could with his words, and he valued his friends more than he did himself. He was used to physical pain, but _emotional pain_ still tripped him up.

He could take a punch just as well as he could throw one, but when someone said or did something that made his heart ache he shut down. Because how could he deal with something he could not hit?

Everything about this situation made his heart ache.

The door to their cell shot open, and Keith bit back a sharp hiss as the sudden light blinded him momentarily. His eyesight had always been exceptional. It was only now that he understood why.

The figure in the doorway came into view and Keith bit back a loud groan at the sight of him.

" _Mutt_."

"Your highness." Keith never could quite curb the sarcasm in his voice when addressing Lotor. Honestly, he was still disturbed over the idea that _Zarkon_ had a child. The more time he spent in the brat's company made it abundantly clear that they were related though.

He still had no clue why the Prince disliked him so much. It's not like Keith had fought against him, or even really spoken to him.

Lotor's bright yellow eyes narrowed at his tone, and Keith fought to keep his smirk from breaking free. One difference between father and son was that Lotor was entirely too easy to antagonise.

"Get up!" The Prince spat, though he remained firmly on the threshold of the cell, as if stepping into the room would somehow taint him.

Keith snorted softly at the thought, ignoring how the Galra's eyes twitched at the sound, and pushed himself to his feet. He approached Lotor casually, meeting the Prince's eyes calmly in an effort to piss him off.

If there was one thing he had swiftly discovered, it was the Lotor absolutely loathed disrespect. It was a pity he was charged with escorting Keith wherever Zarkon demanded him, seeing as Keith had no problem standing up to the whinny Prince.

Keith held his hands out patiently, watching as a guard came forward and secured the binders around his wrists. He noted the new face, studying the Galra's face and committing it to memory.

It was odd, but the longer he was around them, the easier it was for him to differentiate one from the other; and the better he got at reading them.

This one met his gaze stoically, though there was a hint of interest as well. It was curious. Most Galra either looked at him with fear and contempt – not surprising considering Keith _had_ blown up quite a lot of their ships and, by Zarkon's own admission, killed thousands of their kind. A fact that still made his stomach clench uncomfortably – or smug arrogance at seeing an enemy brought low.

This one though, he showed no sign of animosity, nor did he appear to enjoy clapping the restraints on him.

Keith squinted up at the purple face, searching for something but having no clue as to what.

"Hurry up, mutt!" Lotor's hand harshly gripped his shoulder, wrenching him away from the curious Galra and almost tossing him down the corridor. Keith found his feet easily, and turned with a snarl, tempted to shatter the Prince's knee with a well-placed kick.

The look on Lotor's face changed from hostile to cruelly amused. His large hand caressing his sword at his hip. "Try it, Paladin, and I will run you through, damn my father's orders."

"I'd like to see you try." Keith spat, stepping up into the Prince's space. Lotor still towered over him, though not as much as other Galra, which made Keith wonder if Lotor was even fully grown, or if he was still an adolescence.

 _It would certainly explain his attitude._

"One day, mutt, I will have my chance at you. And I will _break you_." Those yellow eyes darted up and down his form, and a lewd grin stretched across the Prince face. "Or perhaps," he purred, "I will add you to my harem. You would look splendid bent over, begging for my co-"

Keith socked him in the jaw with his joined hands, his vision burning red. His knuckles stung from the hit, but satisfaction curled in his chest as Lotor stumbled away cursing and nursing his bruised face.

Hands clamped down on his shoulders and a gun slammed into his stomach, knocking the air out of him and causing Keith to slump in his captor's hold. Keith wheezed, but his lips still widened in a fierce smile when Lotor spun to face him, eyes blazing in righteous fury.

" _You dare!_ "

Keith thrust his chin out, pushing his luck to the limit. A small part of him revelled in the pain, content with the knowledge that Hunk was not the only one of them getting hurt. "I dare, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. What's wrong your highness?" He sneered, "Did I bruise your ego as well as your face?"

Lotor's hand wrapped around his throat, the Prince overwhelmed with his rage. Keith gagged initially, but kept his calm, no matter how much he wanted to thrash and struggle away from the crushing hold. Lotor's earlier comment came back to him, reminding him that for whatever reason, Keith was under Zarkon's protection.

A moment later, the thought was echoed by one of the guards – not the one holding him, or the one that had hit him with their gun. "My Prince, Emperor Zarkon will not -"

"Silence Thace!" Lotor barked, though his grip on Keith's throat lessened enough for him to take a gulp of air.

The Prince stooped until his face was right in Keith's, so close he could smell the other's breath. "You're lucky, you disgusting piece of filth, that my father sees some value in your continued existence."

The Prince's claws dug into his skin warningly, not breaking the skin but the danger was clear. "If it were not for him, I would bend you over here and show you your place, like the whore you are."

Keith felt his anger spark, but he bit back the urge to slug him again.

 _One day,_ Keith promised himself, _one day I'm going to destroy you and I will savour every second of it._

Lotor must have seen the threat in his eyes, for he bared his teeth. Regardless, the Prince straightened and released him. "Come!" Lotor barked to the others, all who appeared distinctly uncomfortable at the scene they bore witness to.

Keith did not bother trying to fight as he was led through hallways. Unlike other times, he was not dragged, but allowed to walk between the two guards, with the third – Thace – behind him.

It was a change that had occurred after his first forced fight with a Galra. The guards no longer treated him like a wild animal whenever they escorted him somewhere, and a part of Keith wondered if it was because they respected him.

Like every other time he had been taken from his cell, they eventually came upon Zarkon's throne room. Keith's mouth tightened as they entered, his eyes drawn to the Emperor's impressive figure like a moth to a flame.

He did not like how easily the monster was able to capture his attention. It unnerved him.

Like always, Keith was forced to his knees when they were close enough, though he refused to bend his head. He gazed steadily up at Zarkon, knowing the Galra leader would likely spot the darkening bruises around his neck.

"I ordered no harm was to come to him." The Emperor's voice was a deep rumble, and the guards stiffened behind him.

Lotor ducked his head, but Keith could see there was no real reverence behind the action. Clearly Lotor had some issues with his father.

"Forgive me, my Emperor. The prisoner was resisting and I felt it prudent to use force to restrain him."

 _You little fucker._

"Understandable," Zarkon droned, though there was a flicker of amusement in his gaze when it returned to Keith. "this one is particularly stubborn. I can see why you felt so threatened my son."

Keith fought to keep his expression blank, even as he longed to release a startled laugh at the anger that twisted Lotor's face. He knew that that was no regular quip. That was a blatant insult towards his heir.

Zarkon had, in a way, just claimed that Keith was fiercer than Lotor; and for a species that glorified battle and bloodthirstiness, that was an unmistakable slight.

Lotor would not be happy, especially since he had tried to put Keith _in his place_ in front of the guards, only to have his father debase him in return.

There was no doubt that Lotor would find some way to get back at Keith. He was not looking forward to the retribution from the spoiled Prince.

"Now, Paladin." Keith returned his attention to Zarkon, wondering just what the Emperor would have him do today. "You will once again display your skills for us."

From the side, a Galra soldier approached, bowing shortly to Zarkon, before facing him. Keith frowned, catching sight of the wicked looking blade at the alien's hip. He darted his gaze back over to Zarkon questioningly.

Typically, whenever Keith was forced to fight a Galra, it was an unarmed match – well, as unarmed as it could be considering the Galra had claws and teeth that could shred through flesh.

Surely he did not intend to make Keith fight an armed opponent with no weapon of his own?

The Emperor inclined his head, and the third guard, Thace, stepped up, holding out –

Keith's eyes widened at the sight of his dagger. He unconsciously tilted towards it, longing to feel it in his hands again, to run his fingers over the blade. He had had that dagger with him for his entire life, seeing it now after so long felt like he had reclaimed a piece of himself.

"Release him."

The binders fell away, and Keith stood, reaching for his dagger. Thace had an odd expression on his face as he handed the weapon over, though it was fleeting and gone within moments.

Keith twirled the dagger through his fingers, switching hands and taking a few experimental swings to familiarise himself with it again. The weight of it felt like a relief.

He looked up at Zarkon, raising an eyebrow. He absently noted that the guards and Lotor had stepped away from him the moment he had been handed the dagger.

They were not fools; they had seen how accomplished Keith was at hand-to-hand. It seemed that they were even more wary of him now that he had a weapon at his disposal.

The Galra he would be fighting stepped down until they were face to face, only a few metres between them. Keith studied this opponent, looking for weaknesses.

"You will fight to the death, begin."

Keith's eyes popped open in surprise, because he had never actually killed one of his other opponents before –

But then he was ducking and rolling away from the swipe of his attacker's sword, the familiar thrum building in him at the notion of a fight.

He steeled himself, holding his dagger confidently and meeting the next attack head-on. Their blades clashed loudly in the throne room, and Keith grunted as he felt his larger opponent begin to press him.

It was always difficult, seeing as all the Galra he had fought were bigger and stronger then him. But Keith was faster, and had the advantage of being able to change fighting styles.

From what he could tell, Galra had two distinctive fighting styles, and he had already met and countered them.

Keith himself was well versed in several different styles, and his ability to switch between them seamlessly gave him an edge.

He sidestepped, letting the Galra's own weight force them passed him. His foot came up and he slammed it into the alien's side, sending it stumbling.

Keith's lips pursed. _Not enough power behind that one._ He thought, disappointed.

He darted forward before his opponent had the chance to recover and began slashing. The Galra managed to hold him off, but Keith was relentless, and his brutal assault made the other unable to recover its balance or rhythm.

Keith bore down on the Galra, mind strangely empty but blood whirring through him like a tsunami. He could not hear the clash of their blades, or the Galra's frantic cursing, or the murmurs from those permitted to watch.

All he could feel was the urge to win.

Keith broke the Galra's formidable defence, and with a snarl his dagger slashed.

Something – dark and warm and wet – splashed across his face and brought him to a halt.

Keith watched with wide eyes as the Galra he had been fighting dropped his weapon and clutched at his gaping throat, distressed mewls filling the now silent room.

Blue blood continued to spurt from the wound, spraying Keith's tattered undersuit and pooling on the floor.

Bile rose in his throat as the Galra finally stopped making noise and collapsed to the floor, dead. He stepped back, hands trembling slightly but eyes unable to move from the body in front of him.

He…he…

"Excellent." Zarkon's purr was distant and warped, "I am impressed, Paladin. I always knew you were a killer."

The accusation made Keith flinch, and suddenly he was angry. Angry at himself, for taking a life. Angry at his opponent, for not being better. Angry at _Zarkon_.

Without thinking, he switched his grip on his dagger, ignoring the thick blood that dribbled down onto his hand. He pivoted on his heel and with a yell, threw.

His aim was true, and it was only the Emperor's honed reflexes that allowed him to catch the dagger before it became buried in his chest.

Disappointment choked him at his failure, and when two guards raced to grab him, Keith finally snapped.

With a scream he thrashed in their grasp, twisting his body and escaping. He punched one in the jaw, knocking him to the ground, and broke the other's knee.

He was blinded by rage, tears blurring in his eyes.

Another guard tackled him to the ground, landing them in the spreading pile of blood. Keith used the small space he had to bring his legs up and shove the Galra up and over his head.

He tried to stand, but the blood was slippery, and four sets of hands pinned him mercilessly to the ground. Keith wriggled in their hold, shouting and screaming who knew what, trying to release even a sliver of the pain and sorrow he felt surging inside him.

The guards pulled him to his feet, where he continued to writhe.

"String him up. It appears our guest needs to be taught some manners." Zarkon said, voice deceptively calm. "Lotor."

Keith's wrists were bound, and from above him, a chain fell. The guards connected the chain to his binders, lifting him until his toes only just brushed against the floor.

Keith snarled and tried to kick out at them, but his arms screamed in protest when he destabilised himself. And he was forced to try and keep his balance, lest he dislocate his shoulders.

Behind him, a large hand grasped the neck of his undersuit and ripped effortlessly through the tough fabric.

Keith panted harshly, twisting his head to see Lotor's smug grin as the bastard continued to tear at his suit until it hung from his hips and his chest was exposed to the chilly air of the throne room.

It was not some much the gleeful expression on the Prince's face that had Keith freezing, but rather the cat'o'nine tails that hung from Lotor's hand like a dark promise, each tail twisting as if alive. Keith snapped his head around, eyes screwing shut and breath hitching.

How many lashes would he receive? How hard would the hits be?

No matter how many shitty homes Keith passed through – some more prone to harsh abuse then others – he had never been flogged before. The very idea of those black strips cutting into his back made him tremble.

"Not so brave now, are you mutt?" Lotor whispered in his ear.

Keith's jaw clenched, and above him, his hands tightened into his fists.

An image of Hunk flashed behind his lids, and Keith released the breath that he had been holding. He let the tension roll out of his body.

Had he not – only a little bit ago – been wishing it was him instead of Hunk?

He could handle this. No matter what Lotor dished out for him, Keith would handle it.

The first lash had him swaying forward, eyes widening and a gasp exploding from his mouth, more from the sharp _crack_ then anything. His back stung, and he could feel where each of the nine tails had hit his skin. The second was much the same.

Keith hung his head and forced himself to focus on his breathing. He allowed his hands to wrap around the thick chains above him, and refused to give them any more reactions.

He bit his tongue to keep the sounds quiet, only letting the occasional grunt escape.

After the eighth lash, he felt blood trickle down his spine.

After the thirteenth, he stopped trying to keep silent.

After the twentieth, he let the tears flow.

 _There's nothing wrong with crying._ He thought dully. He knew that. There was absolutely nothing wrong with reacting to pain, there was nothing wrong with letting himself go.

They would not break him from this. They might take his pride, and his dignity, but this would not break him.

At the thirty-second, Keith let out his first scream.

His back felt like it was on fire, and the scent of blood was heavy in the air. He trembled weakly in his bonds, leaning heavily forward despite the sheer pain it caused his shoulders and back.

Sweat was pouring down him, and it made his wounds flare even more.

Keith had never known what pain was until this moment.

There was an itch building under his skin, and the sensation made him whine, low and long. His head tingled, and even through the haze that clouded his mind, he was aware of the sudden influx of sensations.

He could hear the light panting of Lotor behind him, and the faint creak of the leather in his hands. He could hear the way those around him shifted in their place, how their armour and clothes rustled with their non-existent movements.

The scent of his blood seemed somehow amplified, and he could catch other things, like the smell that was now coming from the dead Galra a few feet away, and the barely-there rust covering the chains above him.

Keith frowned, so so confused as to what was happening, and why the lashes had stopped.

He craned his neck up, pushing through the pain and exhaustion, to see Zarkon seated on his platform, directly in front of him.

He had not even known that he had been right there, facing the Emperor and giving him a front-row seat to the show.

The gleam in the monster's eyes had Keith shuddering and his ears twitching in discomfort.

Wait…

Keith dropped his head, so he could look down at his bare chest, desperate to disprove his suspicions.

The sight of his chest had him closing his eyes in despair.

Streaks were running over his body, turning his chest an ominous purple. Not fully – but there was enough of it to make him sick.

Keith finally emptied his stomach, glad for once that he had not eaten recently. This was the last straw for him, seeing undeniable proof that he was a freak.

The hush that had fallen over the room was broken when the Emperor stood and moved towards him. Keith's ears jolted again, alerting him to the soft noises he would have missed otherwise.

The Emperor's hand grasped at his chin and tugged his head upwards. His thumb brushed delicately over Keith's twisted mouth.

Glowing eyes traced over the boy's partially-altered features. The splashes of vibrant purple mingling with the child's usual pale colour, the larger ears that twitched after every noise, the twin golden eyes staring furiously up at him.

Zarkon smiled, a terrifying, horrible, spine-chilling sight.

"Welcome home, Keith."


End file.
